


Only if you want

by Mtraverandujar



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9948524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtraverandujar/pseuds/Mtraverandujar
Summary: Bill finally brings himself to ask.





	1. Only if you want

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own BSG, Bill or Laura. Others created them. Although I do believe they have a life of their own somewhere.

_After a few angsty fics, I thought they deserved some downtime. Let's make them happy!_

 

The tent is different from the rest. When he finally sees it he recognizes its square structure, the wider space it shelters. The green of the canvas stands out over an ocean of grey tarps. Just as he has been told, it is very easy to spot it among the other tents, all of them so alike. This is a sad, uniform settlement rising from an equally rough, unpromising ground.

People did not know. They could not know: they just wanted to live. And judging from what he sees looking around as he walks this is exactly what they are trying to do. Maybe a few of them have already started realizing the fraud, the betrayal committed against their dreams, against their wishes. Maybe not: maybe all of them will embrace this land without thinking any further, without wondering anything else: they will be content to embrace this destiny as long as the enemy does not hit them again. The thought that your life will only consist of a never ending escape across the outer space towards the unknown is too hard a penance to consider. Earth might not even exist and if it does, they might never find it anyway.

He is a military man. He thinks and feels as such: he would rather die in battle than accept the war is lost in advance and settle for the remains of what he could have achieved. However, not everybody is like him. And now, those who think and feel as he does are forced to share the fate of those who are too exhausted to keep searching.

They have suffered the apocalypse and the exodus. Asking them not to cling to their first chance at a more normal life had probably been too much.

He walks around the corner and sees the entrance of the tent. The zipper is open but a second veil behind it keeps him from seeing the inside. Suddenly, Bill finds himself walking faster: his rhythmic, regular strides get wider and he cannot manage to restrain the impulse of his legs. Anticipation sends a shiver down his spine. In contrast, he covers the last meters more slowly again, tasting the last seconds of uncertainty. He is about to find her. He is about to not find her. Both possibilities trigger complex emotions within him.

He takes a deep breath and sweeps the thick curtain of the entrance aside. It takes a few seconds to his pupils to dilate and adjust to the dim light inside. The day is not exactly sunny and splendid but the contrast is still sharp. He waits for a few moments until he starts making out shapes and forms.

And he sees her.

She gives him her back. She is leaning over one of the desks and her hand rests on the shoulder of the kid whose work she is reviewing in a reassuring, protective gesture. Her other hand is set on the corner of the small table. She is talking to the kid but the distance and the low murmur spreading across the classroom make it impossible for him to hear her words. Completely focused on whatever she is explaining, her posture changes a little and he catches a glimpse of her traits. He makes out the shape of her nose, the profile of her cheek.

Right there, silently standing, he enjoys the peace of having found her and the privacy of knowing he has not been seen yet. He allows himself a few moments to simply watch her. The green shirt and casual trousers she wears hug her curves in a very convenient way. Bill notices her slender fingers, slightly flexed around the kid's shoulder as she gives him indications moving her index across the paper the boy is working in. A strand of hair slides over her shoulder and she absentmindedly lifts her hand to her temple and tucks it behind her ear, where it no longer disturbs her.

Where it does not hide her face.

Her finger pushes her glasses up her nose. She keeps talking. Her demeanor, her gestures reveal that blend of warmth and determination so very hers, her absolute concentration in that specific moment and that specific person. It is her, and it feels like a homecoming.

He smiles.

The sound of fast steps approaching from behind startles him. He turns around, annoyed and a little ashamed, caught by surprise. He is the Admiral, the authority, the leader of his people due to his title as much as to the credit he has earned. Of course, it does not mean he cannot be caught spying through a slit just the same.

"Good afternoon, Admiral."

He turns around fast enough to catch a glimpse of the significant smile fading away from Maya's expression a second after her greeting. Her grin confirms the young woman has a pretty accurate idea about what he is doing right there. However, she walks past him lightly without stopping, pretending casualness. Suddenly aware that he is blocking the entrance, he steps back and she gets in.

His heart pounds fast within his chest. He takes a deep breath. After a second of hesitation, he takes a step forward and looks inside again to see what is going on.

Maya has approached Laura and is whispering something in her ear. A second after the young woman disappears like a ghost among the shadows at the bottom of the tent. Laura stays frozen, half-leaning over the desk, in the same posture she was while Maya talked to her. She straightens up after a few long seconds. She takes her sweet time before turning towards the entrance. This is unexpected for her: she needs to allow herself a moment just to get ready. Like she really wants to keep believing, if only for one more second, that Maya has said the truth.

That he is there.

He is there. The moment she finally dares to look, she makes out his dark figure against the light coming from the outside. She cannot see his features or his expression but she would recognize this silhouette anywhere. Even blindfolded.

She has dreamed of tracing it with her fingertips.

Bill is holding the curtain on the entrance aside with his hand half- lifted. Despite the sunlight blinding her, she can tell he is smiling, maybe thanks to the soft sound falling from his throat the moment she has finally looked at him. Barely a chuckle. A failed attempt to say something. Anything.

Now it is her heart that threatens to burst inside her chest.

All of a sudden, the burden of the last months becomes much more apparent. She is not one to waste time and energy considering her loneliness, her own struggle, as quiet as arduous, as uncertain as dignified. As contradictory: so much work, so many concerns to find a way to settle and make herself useful to the others in a place she does not believe in, an existence without a future, a situation which keeps Bill away from her most of the time. It is only when she sees him before her eyes that her feelings, effortlessly repressed for weeks, break the wall of her inner defenses.

It is OK. She can deal with this. She is second to no one when it comes to staying in control, to pretending self-confidence. And yet she is certain he has read the emotion in each and every gesture she has made up to that very instant. It is too late. But, really, it does not matter.

Her eyes lock with his. She smiles and clears her throat.

"Admiral." she greets.

He nods in response.

They stay silently looking at each other one second longer than they should: one meaningful second. Then she starts walking towards him. Quiet, controlled. Beaming. As she comes closer, he sees the sparkle in her green eyes.

She stops. Aware that Maya must be discreetly watching them from the bottom of the tent, she stays standing before him at an appropriate distance. Appropriate for anyone watching them from outside, but close enough for him to still hear her when she speaks in a low tone.

"How long have you been spying on me, Admiral?"

It is a knowing, playful, warm whisper. Now, yes, this is her true greeting. Her welcome.

"Just a few seconds."

He shakes his head emphasizing his words, meaning he has just arrived.

She knows exactly what it means that Bill has been watching her _just a few seconds_. The smile grows wider on her lips and brings light to her eyes.

This very instant when they see each other again is the most magical one. More than any other. Both acknowledge and savor it without haste, locking eyes in silence, letting the noise of the world die down outside the glass vase which has descended over them. Lost in his blue oceans again, the realization that she lives every day waiting for this moment hits her full force. She does not think of it on purpose, there is no sharp pain piercing her soul. She copes with her inner needs like she faces her days: with serene determination. With stoic dignity. However, she recognizes the homesickness which descends over her soul when the night comes. She remembers all the times she has looked up to the sky hoping to find _Galactica_ there, sending him a silent message across the air. She knows all too well which material this longing is made of. It feels intimate, like a fondness. She knows that, wherever she goes, it comes with her.

He comes with her.

"How much time do you have?"

A faint anxiety tinges her voice despite herself. He notices it and it melts him inside as much as it pulls his pieces together again. He has spent weeks walking the corridors of an empty ship like a dismembered robot, suffering the progressive desertion of his troops which only ties him more tightly to a place where his heart no longer lives. No, since she is down here on the planet, since the moment he realized the terrible mistake he had made when he assumed he would still manage to see her regularly.

It had been his old heart speaking and he had wanted to believe.

"Not much, really." Remorse makes his voice shudder before he goes on. "Just until the raptor is stocked again. One hour, maybe less. But it is OK if I make them wait a little."

Laura bites her lower lip. One hour. Maybe two. And it has to be now. Otherwise… who knows how many more weeks. How many months. Slowly, she turns around. Her eyes scan the tent. Maya would not have emerged from the shadows any faster if Laura had actually called her name. The former president does not even need to formulate her request.

"Go. I can take over."

"It will be just a couple of hours."

Laura cannot ignore the knowing shine in her assistant's dark orbs.

"It's fine. Don't worry."

Laura nods. And just like that, the fog lifts from her soul.

If Maya had not offered to take over the lesson she would never have been able to leave. She would not have been able to enjoy even this couple of hours. She knows she would have stuck to her duties, which is exactly why she prefers to push the thought away from her mind.

"Thank you." she simply says.

The two women smile at each other. Then, she turns to Bill.

"Let's go."

"Where?" he asks as he nods.

"I don't care." she whispers back.

Bill holds back a happy laughter. He looks at her one more instant: he watches that face which gifts him with a relaxed, glowing expression now that their only obstacle has been so easily overcome. He offers her his arm as a blink dances in his pupils. She stays still for a beat. She feels so moved by that simple gesture, the delicacy in his manners towards her which remains, which is even more apparent, now that she is nobody.

But the truth is that she is more than she ever was. More than anything else.

She guesses that much.

He knows it for certain.

As she slides her fingers on the crook of his elbow to let him guide her outside she feels more important than she has ever felt with any of the jobs and duties she has carried out. She feels restored, whole, and she is inclined to say the day has turned from grey into luminous, her reality suddenly brimming with possibilities.

They start walking down the street. Laura releases his arm immediately. He casts a sidelong glance at her, insecure, searching for an explanation in her face. He finds it in her eyes which look back at him full of affection, in open contradiction with the security distance she has just established. Her intentions are thus clarified.

There are too many people around, indeed. Everybody recognizes him, greets him as they walk by: a few words, a nod, a smile, a salute. Every few steps someone approaches them, stops them. The Admiral is planetside and many do not want to miss their chance at a brief exchange with him. They are those who worked for him for years. They are his family. He greets back, shakes hands, and speaks gentle words.

Standing by his side, Laura smiles and stays on a discreet second place. Her mind is making a silent countdown of the seconds they will be able to share in the two scarce hours she will spend with him but nothing in her gives her impatience away. She is not distressed. She understands. She understands that, even now, in these circumstances, she has to share him. At least for now, she has left behind that period of her life when her role always had to come before her wishes. She does not mind it: she is freer, lighter now. And yet she knows there are many who still look at her with respect, sometimes almost reverence. She is the one they know they can turn to. She is their referent. She can tell that much from their looks, from their way to approach her. She is just a schoolteacher now but all of them have seen her in action, facing the open fire. They know what she is made of, to what extents she is willing to go to fulfil her duties, to serve mankind. Just for the love of them.

She takes an intimate pride in the fact that everybody wants to talk to Bill. She admires him, too. Suddenly, she is not sure he knows how much she does. Regret bites at her heart.

She rejoices just thinking how envious Baltar would feel if he would be seeing this scene. That pathological jealousy of his is the reason why he keeps her under a subtle surveillance. The doctor does not make the smallest effort to imitate her qualities but he would still want to enjoy the same kind of appreciation and gratitude from the people she achieved. What he expects is worship, really. Well, he is not likely to be even close to them right now. He is possibly enjoying his harem: he barely does anything else during the entire day.

Laura sighs.

They are left alone at last. He grins his apology. She reassures him with a smile. All is good.

They resume their walk and reach the limits of the tent camp a few minutes later. That was Laura's goal. The fact that she perfectly understands why everyone wants to greet him does not mean she is willingly going to let her two hours slip out of her hands just like that. The density of the crowd gets drastically reduced as soon as they get past the last row of tents. Only a few brave ones try their luck beyond the limits and yet they keep moving erratically around the camp like ants never too far from their nest. Bill immediately understands they are safe.

"About time." he sighs, relieved.

The corners of her lips lift slightly in response as she walks. She keeps the steady rhythm of her strides. She does not turn to him. This gives him room, grants him a perfect chance to watch her closely. The lines of her forehead, which he knows shields a smart, brilliant mind. Her well- lined jaw, the profile of her nose, the curve of her lips. The wind gently sweeping her auburn locks around her temples, over her shoulders. The shirt hugging her breasts, its opening unbuttoned so casually, so suggestively. Her skin tone, tanner than usual due to the life on the open air. The dull light of the neon lights in the ships' meeting rooms and corridors is anything but fetching. The first time he came down to the planet for the groundbreaking ceremony he spent one day and one night with her and he noticed the difference already.

Just a few months earlier, he had cried in front of her, holding her hand, certain he was about to lose her. The woman walking by his side right now is glowing, full of life.

"I could get used to seeing you in casual clothes."

She turns her face to him as she keeps walking. A faint blush has spread across her cheeks and her eyes dive into his with such intensity he makes a mental note not to forget this when she is away.

"This is not the best terrain for power suits and high heels." she jokes.

"Well, it looks good on you. Given your initial reticence, I wouldn't have expected it."

She looks ahead again, tilts her head back, closes her eyes under the sunlight and smiles, pleased. Bill feels her hand taking his. That is her only response. He feels her fingers interlace with his in a simple, easy gesture. He opens his hand to welcome hers, and then closes his fingers around it. He presses her hand a little, she replies pressing back. A warm current flows through him head to toes. During the last few weeks he has never stopped wondering how much of the physical intimacy and the confidences they had shared that night could be blamed on the alcohol and the weed they had consumed, and how much of it all was the reflection of their true feelings. He is sure about himself: he knows he has often dreamed of that night, before and after it actually happened. And maybe he has just been overthinking but at a certain point he came to a conclusion: he cannot take for granted that she feels the same way.

However, Laura has just taken his hand. And they are both sober now.

They keep walking. Just a few meters ahead, the path gets into a thick forest. As soon as they see themselves surrounded by trees it feels like there is no one else in miles around them.

"How are you?" he asks in the most casual tone he is capable of.

She allows herself a moment before answering.

"Well. I can't say it is easy, but I am finding my way, I am building my place here little by little. I manage."

"The school?" he prompts.

"Mostly the school, yes. It's hard. There are many kids of very different ages. Lots of them lost one or both their parents in the attacks. Nobody has looked after them properly in the last year. We usually have to deal with their emotional wounds before we can even consider teaching them anything". She pauses. "It is exhausting, but it pays off when you see them recover and grow up."

He reflects in silence.

"It's good to be exhausted at the end of the day. It stops me from thinking too much."

He turns to look at her. He can imagine her so easily, fighting for those kids every day, trying to make up for their wide range of needs and lacks as well as she can. He knows her well enough to understand she does not waste time giving things more thought than necessary. Make a decision, act on it; make a decision, act on it. He can guess the soft firmness she puts into play when she deals with people is largely beneficial for those damaged kids. He feels a faint jealousy: they enjoy her attention and her company for hours every day.

As easily as he can imagine her at school, he can also see her arriving at her tent at the end of the day, changing clothes in four precise moves and slumping down on her bed without even bothering to eat something for dinner, exhaustion prevailing over her need to feed herself. His heart clenches at the thought. Her sense of duty, her tenacity, and her commitment make no difference between being the president or a plain schoolteacher. Well, of course she could never be just a plain schoolteacher: Laura exceeds the requirements of her job whatever said job consists of.

A slight pressure on his hand shakes him out of his reverie. He meets her eyes, which he finds full of interest and affection.

"How about you?"

Bill shrugs.

"You know how things are up there. In times of peace everything is much quieter, there is less work to do, but there is also much less people on board: half the crew has settled down here already, along with the civilians. There are just a few of us to do what has to be done."

She notices a quiver in his voice. She knows what he is thinking. She knows he is wondering what will happen if the enemy finds them someday. Everyone, including himself, has let their guard down. Determined as he is not to quit his job, in the current situation he is sure their defensive chances will be meager to say the least if they find themselves confronted with a massive attack. Saying they are unprepared would be a huge understatement. And if it finally happens, the consequences will be his fault and no one else's.

"You should see it." he resumes his explanation, trying to keep his dark reflections at bay. "The silence in the corridors is deafening. You can walk along them for several minutes before you actually run into someone else. You can spend hours without talking to anyone at all. In the CIC, the only sound comes from the buzzing of the screens and the machines."

She nods. She has a hard time imagining the ship empty. It feels strange. It has been almost five months since they arrived and she is aware most of the crew has settled on the planet. She has seen them: one by one she has welcomed all her fellow sufferers whose faces she saw daily during the months they passed travelling across the universe. Now, confronted with Bill's description, she has no trouble picturing how that same situation feels from the other side. Even if she knows Bill is not very talkative and he enjoys being alone, it is painful to imagine him more and more isolated, left behind by his own people, helplessly watching that exodus. A man on a mission almost none of his children believe necessary anymore. But he knows it still is. He trusts himself, his own intuition.

He knows she shares his concern.

"What brought you here today?"

Bill grunts softly.

"I had to meet him."

"Baltar?"

He nods.

"You know he keeps the trips between the ships and the surface under strict control and he seldom grants us permission to get here. Especially if it's me asking. But this time he called me."

"Really? How so? What did he want?"

Bill wonders to what extent he wants to involve Laura in those matters now she no longer participates in them. Just the thought of hiding information from her makes him upset and uneasy. The idea of renewing the trust they had as Admiral and President and receive her advice and support once more is too tempting. He decides there is absolutely nothing he cannot or should not share with her.

"Provisions, tylium, and a couple of details regarding the unions. Nothing we could not deal with over the phone. But you know how this works. If he suddenly decides he needs to see me, there is just no reason good enough to make him change his mind. From time to time he remembers I exist and he likes to make sure I know I must follow his orders."

Laura feels infuriated at the capricious behavior Bill describes. It makes her mad to imagine the stoic, honest, committed man who walks beside her forced to obey the whim of that jerk.

"On the other side" he adds. "I felt like coming, too. It has been a long time."

All the anger gathered in her chest dissipates. It is not quite his words: it is his tone which charges them with meaning and earns him a warm, significant smile.

Then, he stops. She takes a couple of strides out of inertia before their hands, still linked, pull at her from behind. Her face is a huge question mark when she turns around to face him. Why has he stopped so abruptly? Does he want to go back already? She had planned to at least get to the lakeshore.

"Laura."

Bill's features, so relaxed just a second before, have turned grave. He meets her glance for a second and then casts his eyes. He does not hide. He is not ashamed. He is just searching for words.

She walks back and stands before him. She keeps holding his hand and presses it softly.

"Bill, what's wrong?"

He allows himself a moment before lifting his gaze to hers again. She is right there, her face two inches from his, her jade eyes filled with concern and trying to read his, as she used to do in the past. He is almost sure she will be able to do it again: she will just guess what he is about to say before he finds the appropriate words for what he wants to convey.

"You know I am seldom allowed to come to the planet."

She nods.

"This means you and I have very few occasions to see each other. And it's impossible to know how long things will be like this or which kind of surprises the future will bring."

She starts to have a vague impression that she knows what all this is about. She arches her eyebrows encouraging him to go on.

"What I mean is… what I mean is I'd love to spend more time with you on those few occasions when I can come down."

She rewards him with a smile. Not just a smile: _that_ smile. She sinks into his blue gaze.

"And what do you suggest that we do exactly?"

Her voice is a caress. Her tone is magnetic. It is almost a whisper but Bill knows better than to trust her softness. Quite often, the softer she gets, the more dangerous she becomes.

She will not let him get away with this. She will make him say it.

He smiles shyly.

"I'd love to stay with you for the night when I can. Of course, only if you agree."

He has been messed with doubts for weeks before finally mustering enough strength to mention it. Laura knows him well and yet he would rather die than risk her misunderstanding him. Suggesting he could share her tent and spend the night with her when he is always going to leave the next morning might eventually make Laura doubtful about the depth of his feelings, the truthfulness of his intentions, when it is actually the other way around: he just wants to cling to whatever chances he might have to give her, and receive from her, just a tiny fraction of what they both deserve and long for.

As soon as he puts his wishes into words, her face lights up. Seeing her look back at him with that splendid smile dissolves whatever was left of his worries. He feels her other hand take his, her eyes never leaving him, before she says:

"I thought you would never ask."

"I didn't know if you would like the idea."

She feels an immeasurable tenderness spread inside her body seeing him there, right in front of her, with all his masculine insecurity. Neither his uniform nor his decorations, not even his upright posture can quite disguise it.

"Which is exactly why you should ask."

He smiles and reflects for a second.

"I thought it might be better that you suggested it."

She shakes her head on the negative. She suddenly turns serious.

"I would have never suggested this, Bill."

By the shadow descending over his expression, she can tell he does not understand. She releases his hands and lifts hers to his chest. Her fingers play with his lapels absentmindedly.

"Don't you see? I don't owe anything to anyone anymore. For better or for worse, I'm free here. I'm just another settler. But you still keep your job, you still need to worry about your image, you are still setting an example." She pauses. "I know how important all this is to you. I know what it meant to me. This is why I could not suggest something like this. I would never press you on this, Bill. I don't have it in me."

He stares at her with the expression of someone who has just solved a puzzle. His mind is assaulted by the memories of all those nights he has found himself looking through the windows of the observation deck, or alone in his quarters, wondering if maybe she was looking up in that same moment, searching for the lights of _Galactica_ in the middle of the sky.

Now he knows.

She keeps her hands right there on his chest, eyes locked with his.

"So…?" he murmurs.

Laura cocks her head with a grin. Bill is asking her to confirm something he already knows. As a reply, she slides her hands over his shoulders, strokes the nape of his neck with her fingertips and pulls him to her gently. She feels his arms climbing up her back, tightening around her. One wraps around her waist, the other winds across her shoulders. The moment his face leans over hers, she drops her eyelids. The moment she feels his lips on hers, she parts them. And he carefully explores that new space, savors it, takes it up and Laura is neither willing nor able to reject him. She grants him access to every corner while she gives back everything she receives in that kiss. She is grateful his arms are holding her: she would not trust her legs to sustain her right now.

A few seconds later, she pulls back slowly. He loosens his embrace a little, just enough to let her maneuver without letting her go. Laura's gaze is full of warmth and light. Her cheeks have flushed under his touch. It takes his breath away: she is even more beautiful with the emotion flooding her features.

"Now, Bill, what do you think I'm going to say?"

His expression relaxes into a wide smile her face immediately mirrors. And then it is her who cuddles against him again. She leans her head on his shoulder and Bill holds her tight releasing a happy sigh. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift into the joy of the moment, the sensation of having her with him, of holding her so close.

Of knowing she corresponds to his feelings.

The ease with which she fills the circle of his arms registers with him a few moments later. Concern about her health and her well-being creeps inside him. He feels frustrated for being always absent, for not being able to look after her personally, for not being close enough to make sure she always has everything she needs.

He knows all too well the loneliness that certain jobs impose on you. He has perceived the way many people still look at her despite the fact that it has been months since she left the presidency. He can tell that, even now, her former occupation creates a halo around her which keeps her apart from the others, reducing her chances at a true friendship. He wonders if there is someone who can assist her or take care of her in a moment of need. The truth is he has conflicted feelings about it: he would be relieved if there would actually be someone close to her, but he would rather not think about her having to turn to someone else for comfort and affection while he is away.

Laura does not acknowledge any authority in her life other than her own. She is free and gives herself to others only if she really wants to. He trusts she will be able to forgive him for the protective drive he is currently feeling. He will show it to her just the same. He cannot help himself anyway.

"You have lost weight." he whispers in her ear.

He does not need to see her face to know Laura has smiled at his words. After a beat, she lifts her head off his shoulder. The moment the contact is lost, the warmth is gone. He is about to regret having expressed his concern aloud when she lifts her palms to his cheeks, and suddenly her warmth is flooding through his body again from this new contact point.

"I am fine." she reassures him lovingly.

He lifts his hands and runs his fingers through her locks. She lets her lids slide shut, revels in the feel. He kisses her forehead.

"Okay."

Laura snuggles further into him and Bill knows she is not upset. This strong, stubborn, independent woman accepts his protection, his warmth, and this can only mean one thing: the feeling is mutual.

And she accepts him just like he is.

"As a matter of fact" she softly adds, "I've never felt better."

 

**I originally wrote this fic in Spanish a year ago and translated it recently. In a way it has been harder than writing in English (like the ones I posted previously). This is the first 'translated fic' I post. Let me know your thoughts. I hope you enjoy it!**


	2. Three words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is for Sue Baker. We do not talk that much but she suggested this story needed a second chapter. Sue, you were so right. Thank you!

She is not there.

She is not there when he finally walks in, leaving the last orange reflections of dusk behind as he enters her tent. His heart clenches at how easily his hands unzip the curtain and sweep it aside letting him in. Those canvas walls might protect her privacy and even shelter her from inclement weather but they certainly do nothing for her safety. She could be living in the open air, for that matter.

As soon as he crosses the threshold he can barely see his own feet. He draws a hand to his belt, pulls out his small lantern and switches it on. He calls her name, just to have his fears confirmed by the silence that follows. Disappointment and concern crawl on his skin but he does not let them take over him. She must have been held back by some last minute issue but she knows he is coming tonight. She will be back.

He makes out the shapes of the scarce furniture she has managed to gather over the months. Every time he brings up the topic she insists she has everything she needs but he has always suspected her idea of 'necessary' is different from his, at least when it comes to her. Now that Bill sets his feet on her place for the first time, what he sees looks far too little: a small stove, canned food, two mugs and some cutlery placed on a steel console which might have been stripped off a discarded raptor; a bowl with water, a thin cot, a squared, wooden sheet placed horizontally over a barrel to improvise a table and two pallets serving as chairs. As some kind of almost forbidden luxury, he sees three cushions and a heap of nicely bent blankets beside the cot. The old trunk at its feet must contain her scarce belongings: the few items she did not leave behind before moving down. All the props of her presidential persona hibernate stored in a box in his quarters, aboard _Galactica_ , as if she had left him her shell only.

Meanwhile, the real Laura lives (or rather, survives) down here.

Clearly, when she says she has enough she just means she does not want to take from others anything more than the essential. He makes a mental note to do a more thorough review of her belongings before he leaves to send her everything she might need and he can supply.

Bill wonders if a certain red dress is anywhere near, too. A trace of nostalgia crosses his features.

He sees the paper with his name in capital letters and walks towards the makeshift table. Laura has left him a note. He picks it up and smiles: his name looks a whole lot nicer written in her elegant, slightly edgy calligraphy.

He turns the sheet in his hand to read the back.

_"_ _Welcome. Make yourself at home, I won't be long. Laura."_

Just a few words, straight to the point but not lacking warmth, either. This note is _so her_. His smile grows wider as a wistful expression tinges his eyes. There is so much more he can read between the lines.

He is grateful he knows her so well now.

He decides to follow her advice. Looking around, the cot really seems to be the most (the only) comfortable option at hand. He walks over and sits down on the far end, opposite to the entrance, letting out a soft, exhausted grunt as his joints complain louder than usual. A stack of books on the floor catches his attention. He reads the title of the volume on top and cannot hold back a smile: he gave it to her the night before she settled on the planet. From his personal library.

Of course, it was a gift.

Then he started sending her other tomes with the courier. He himself brought one with him and gave it to her personally the first time he got down to the surface.

All of them are here, in a neat pile at her bedside.

Somehow, these books keep her company, share her intimacy. They tell the story of Laura keeping him close while he is away. A weight lifts from his soul at the realization.

He unties and takes off his boots, swings his legs up onto the mattress and eases back on the cushions: they feel surprisingly fluffy and welcoming, like falling in the center of a thick cotton cloud. He lets the sensation envelope him, fill him with warmth and relax his muscles, in sweet anticipation of the moment she will actually walk in. His gaze lost on the ceiling, his fingers interlaced over his belly, he lets his thoughts wander.

Slowly, unnoticeably, he drifts into slumber.

He stops thinking.

Everything is quiet when Laura gets back. With the economy of movements which comes with habit she walks to the kitchen to light up a couple of candles. The tiny flames cast a twinkling, yellowish glow across the inside of the tent and project long shadows over the canvas walls making the whole place look more like a home but also one full of ghosts. She prefers it this way. Besides, saying their electric supplies are meager would be an understatement: she has gotten used to saving devices such as plugs or batteries for those tasks or occasions when there are no other alternatives.

She shrugs her thick sweater off and drapes it across the console with a deep, exhausted breath.

Then she hears it. She jumps, startled, and lifts a hand to her mouth to hold back a gasp.

A hoarse, guttural sound comes from the back of her tent.

One second later, reality sinks in and she lets a smile spread behind her fingers.

Bill is here.

She had left him the note just in case but she had thought she would be back earlier than him. However, it looks like he has arrived already. Carefully, she turns around and takes a few more steps into the tent to catch a glimpse of the bed. Her heartbeats race once again although for a completely different reason.

She holds her breath as she comes over. The dim light of the candles allows her to make out his lying form on the mattress. As she gets closer, the soft snoring sound reaches her ears once again. She smiles wider, unable to contain her emotion. She can afford it: no one (not even him) sees her right now.

She stands by the cot watching him. His hair looks longer than the last time. The moustache he has been growing for the last months seems thicker, too. His face has fallen to the side and his chest rises and falls with his steady breathing. He looks peaceful, almost innocent, as impossible as it seems. A wave of tenderness overwhelms her, almost threatening to swallow her whole. She looks down at him, mesmerized, as if he was some sort of miracle materialized before her very eyes.

He is here.

Alright. She will let him rest. She can wait. She will sit quietly, doing something else while she waits for him to wake up, and looking back to watch him from time to time. This idea fills her with sweetness and an almost forgotten inner peace. It feels good. It feels perfect.

Laura outstretches an arm to reach for a blanket. Carefully, she spreads it across his upper body. Nights are turning cold lately.

She pulls the blanket to his upper chest. When her fingers release it over his body she stays still, slightly bent over, watching him closely. Following an impulse, Laura brings her hand to his hair and strokes it with just her fingertips, not wanting to take the risk of waking him. She bends further and leaves a light kiss on his forehead.

Bill does not move.

"Hi." She whispers affectionately.

She smiles. She is sure she would have blushed furiously if Bill had woken up to her voice and the look on her face giving everything away. She withdraws, lets out a happy sigh and walks back to the kitchen.

Bill wakes to an almost complete darkness. Numb and disoriented, he grunts and frowns straining his eyes for focus and his mind for clarity. The unfamiliar feel is followed by both a rush of joy and a pang of worry as soon as he remembers.

Laura's tent. But how much time has passed since he dozed off? Where is she?

Even if he cannot see her, he can still feel her presence nearby as some kind of warm breeze. There is a different quality to the air, not quite a definable scent or a revealing sound but definitely not a delusion, either. Or maybe he has his own way of noticing her presence, some kind of over- sensitiveness, an ease of guessing, a dradis always tuned in for her, just for her. Ultimately, he notices the blanket over his body. The evidence that she has found him there and carefully tucked the thick woolen cover around his body warms him more than the object itself.

She is back.

Or she has walked in at some point, found him there, covered him with the blanket, and left again to go somewhere else, not wanting to interrupt his much needed rest.

No. She cannot have done that. She must know there is nothing he needs more than seeing her again. Sleep can wait.

As his eyes scan his surroundings, he notices a dim clarity spreading from a corner.

"Laura?" his voice rumbles.

She jerks. Absorbed in the task of making herself some tea, she has failed to notice the soft sounds of his awakening, him clearing his throat, the springs of the cot crackling. Her heart skips a beat.

Then it starts beating faster.

She looks over her shoulder and smiles.

"Here."

With her voice as a guide, he finally spots the drifting, distorted shadow of her body projected on the canvas. He hears the noise of cutlery, then a soft splash of water.

One second after, she comes in sight. She walks towards him with a mug in her hands and a splendid smile dancing on her lips. She surrounds the bed to get to the side where Bill is lying down. He follows her with his eyes: her fluent moves, her graceful strides, her dark red hair bouncing around her shoulders, her curves conveniently hugged by the same green shirt she was wearing the last time he saw her, and a slightly worn pair of pants.

He sits up and straightens his back. She sits down on the edge of the cot facing him.

She is beaming.

"Hey."

"Hey."

And then, silence. She is there. In front of him. Again.

"You fell asleep. You seemed so peaceful. I didn't want to wake you."

"When have you come back?"

He hopes he has not missed much. Sleep is such a waste of time when he can be with her.

"A while ago. Just enough to review a couple of students' papers and make myself this." She raises the mug.

"Is it… safe to be out there so late on your own?"

"I had to talk to the parents of one of the kids."

That is not quite what he is asking. Laura must know she cannot get away with just that. Bill is showing a questioning, slightly concerned look. At last, Laura rolls her eyes. He can tell she is not upset. Not really.

"Bill. I live here." she shrugs.

She needs to lead a normal life.

"I know."

He knows. It is also clear that it will not stop him from worrying.

She gives him a wistful smile.

"How long can you stay?"

Her voice is tinged with equal parts of hope and fear.

"I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon. At least I won't have to rush out at six hundred."

Laura snorts remembering how brief and hurried all of his previous visits had been, except for the day they had spent together when he came for Baltar's groundbreaking ceremony. The last time he was planetside they only had time for a short walk, and just because Maya had been able to cover for her at school. One entire day is a blessing.

Her heart dances in her chest. She wonders why she is still pretending, keeping her emotions in check; why she is so calm, so controlled. This is Bill. She can be herself. She can relax. The corners of her lips curve upwards.

She hands him the mug. He sits upright and accepts it. He takes a sip. It does not taste sour as he had expected, but it is not sweet either. It is just… different from water. Something else he cannot quite describe.

As if sensing his trouble to catalogue it, Laura intervenes.

"It's made of herbs growing around the camp. Cottle says it's full of vitamins."

He grunts, pleased. He is relieved to see she takes care of herself. He lifts the mug to his lips and takes another, less tentative sip. The warm liquid seems to awaken him from the inside as it burns its way down his throat. Bill holds the mug out to her again.

"Thank you."

She does not reply. Instead, she lets her eyes do the talking. She can feel herself glowing. She knows he can read that.

So here they are, at last. Alone. Together. Reality feels a whole lot better than her dreams. And this is even easier, more natural than it had looked that day he asked her, but it is harder and a little frightening too, without their masks, no decisions pending, no imminent concerns, no ticking clock. No excuses.

Just the two of them. Sharing a tent.

The only other time they had shared a personal space (either his or hers) for a purpose beyond their professional duties was on Kobol. They had done it out of sheer need. They hardly were allies back then.

What are they now?

She realizes she does not need to give it a name. It feels right. That is enough.

"I'm so happy you asked." Laura whispers at last.

"I'm so happy I did." He pauses and she can tell there is something else to his silence. "I could not take it for granted, you know. Casually cuddling under the stars high in both weed and alcohol until we pass out is certainly not the same as asking to share your tent being sober. I just wanted to make sure."

She looks back at him tenderly. Even with those substances running through her bloodstream, Laura cannot remember her dreams, her wishes or her emotions that night being any different from what they were before or after drinking and smoking together. If anything, their effects had simply loosened her, had made her more aware of what her heart held dear, what (whom) her desires were about, and more eager to let it show, to give it a chance.

Somehow, she had never doubted Bill shared her feelings which ultimately had made it easier for her to settle for what she had, what they had; to patiently wait for him to come back and enjoy his company for as long as the circumstances would allow them to.

Meanwhile, on _Galactica_ , Bill had spent countless hours wondering if Laura would be fine with his suggestion. Looking at him now, she hopes, she believes he did not really doubt her feelings either. Even if nothing had really happened between them that night, she thinks the looks she gave him, the way she cuddled against him and hummed when his arm pulled her tighter to him, her hand caressing his jacket and then shuffling his hair, were expressive enough.

However, he had wanted to make sure she had not regretted any of that once she had been fully reigning on her emotions and her self- control again. Or, even if he hoped she felt the same way about him as he did about her, he had wanted to be certain that this new step would not be crossing any line she would not want to tread upon yet. Giving priority to everything else over their needs and their emotions has become such a habit for both of them.

"Ever the gentleman." She smiles. "You always have a place in my home, Bill."

Bill sighs as the deep meaning of her words sinks in. They remain silent, their glances lost in each other's. Her hands rest on her knees holding the still warm mug. He reaches out and wraps his hands around hers. After a few seconds, he removes the mug from her fingers and leaves it on the ground beside her makeshift bed. Then, he takes her hands in his again and pulls her to him in a silent invitation, shifting to the side to make room for her on the cot. Laura willingly obliges and snuggles against his welcoming body. She nuzzles his neck. He wraps his arms around her.

"I've missed you." She admits quietly, like she is telling him a secret.

As a response, Bill holds her tighter, turns his face to her and kisses her temple. A comfortable silence falls over them, surrounding them like a peaceful mist. Bill's thoughts wander randomly. He can feel Laura thinking, too. He cannot be sure about what is in her mind. He does not worry. Eventually, she might tell him. He does not need thoughts and words all the time anyway.

Not now that he has her in his arms.

"Bill, what will we do when Baltar's presidency is over?" she finally shares her worries aloud, speaking in a soft voice as her fingers draw lazy circles on the fabric of his uniform.

He exhales. It seems her musings are not so different from his, after all. He knows her question is not just about what will happen next. She is trying to anticipate the consequences of this, of them, here and now, under the light of what the future might require from them.

"I don't know. "He admits gravely, and reflects for a few seconds. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. We'll figure it out. Together. That's what we always do, if you have noticed."

Yes, she has noticed. And she cannot even begin to tell him how grateful she is for it. Both her question and his reply feel natural, casual, as everything unfolds between them ever since they became allies, even when they disagree. She supposes he is right: they will come up with something when the day arrives. In the meantime, she will not give up this moment nor all the moments she might still be allowed to enjoy in his company. She would not trade this for the world. Wrapped in his embrace, she has to believe him: there seems to be nothing they cannot solve together. She feels so safe now.

If only he knew how terrible she felt just this last night.

Laura squirms and Bill looks down at her, concerned. She wonders if he has noticed her sudden distress, if he can guess it is more than just her body attempting a more comfortable posture.

He can. She knows it as soon as she looks up at him.

"What's wrong, Laura?"

She averts her eyes.

"Nothing. It's just… I've been having dreams."

Coming from her, that piece of information is not exactly reassuring.

"Dreams? As in visions?"

"No, no. Not that kind of dreams. Nothing like the chamalla visions. These are just…" she swallows and clears her throat to manage a firmer voice. "Some nights I dream my cancer is back, Bill."

He draws two fingers to her chin and pulls her face up until she can no longer avoid his eyes.

"Are you feeling OK?"

Laura's heart aches at the worry she can read in his expression. She hates what the mere idea of a relapse in her illness does to him. She chides herself for her weakness. She should have kept it to herself.

"Yes. Absolutely. Yes, I'm fine, Bill. I even… I had Cottle run some tests just in case. Everything is OK. I guess it's just… I recovered from the cancer but I have had no time to… adjust. I guess my mind still needs time to believe it. It's weird. I didn't think about the cancer when I was sick and I don't waste any time on it now either, but it still haunts my dreams." She pauses. "Even after hearing Cottle say I'm completely healthy, some nights I wake up with a jolt and sweating and my heart racing and I… and I start touching my breasts searching for a new lump, a new threat. I always find nothing."

Tears are stinging his eyes when she looks up at him again. Bill does not even try to hide, to disguise them. He places a hand on her head and leaves it there, protective, barely stroking her hair like intending to erase those hurtful images from her mind with just his touch. He lets out a deep breath. He feels heartbroken. He wishes so badly he could stay down here with her, to hold her on those awful nights, to comfort her and whisper calming words in her ear, to rock her in his arms until she falls asleep again. He curses the gods and their destiny and wishes with all his heart he was not so convinced that the cylons can still find them. It is just this conviction that keeps him running in ridiculous circles in a ship out there. Away from her.

Now he can stop wondering what those grey, round shadows under her eyes are about.

She gives him a weak smile and lifts a hand to his cheek.

"It's nothing, Bill. They are just dreams." She says reassuringly.

"No, they are not. These nightmares are causing you pain. But they will subside sooner or later. You're healthy now, Laura." He lowers his head searching for her face and pushes her chin up with his thumb. His eyes bore into hers and her breath catches as she holds his intense gaze. "And you're so beautiful."

She bites her lower lip and smiles bashfully. Then she cuddles further against him. He pulls her close wrapping both of his arms around her torso. He rocks her. He will protect her with his life. He will shelter this strong woman who never asks for anything, who has just let him catch a glimpse of her vulnerability. He loves her all the more for that.

True strength does not come from immunity. It does not come from not having grief and wounds. It comes from living with and through them. And this is Laura letting him in, trusting him with her fears, showing him she does need care, hoping for him to provide it. Trusting he will. And the Gods know he would, if only he could stay.

One of his hands strokes her running up and down her spine. When he hits a sensitive spot on the base of her neck, Laura cannot hold back a gasp. Holding her in place, he sweeps her auburn locks aside, draws his lips to that spot and kisses her right there. He lingers and she shudders, closes her eyes and hums in response.

"So, Admiral, when you suggested staying with me, is it this that it really was about?" she teases in an already husky voice.

"No." He rasps, and he sounds so serious that she feels momentarily disappointed. "It was about being with you, no matter how. Being with you as you would let me, as you would have me."

She snuggles impossibly close and hides her face on his chest. She cannot speak.

Bill leans his cheek on the crown of her head and smiles, eyes half closed, against her hair.

"Tomorrow I will show you my lake." She resolves a few moments after.

" _Your_ lake?" The low rumble of his voice is light, playful.

"Yeah. I get to choose my lake, you know. There must be some perks to having been the president of humanity."

He chuckles.

"Sure. Just don't forget to tell Baltar about it."

She pokes him on the ribs faster than he finishes speaking. She laughs freely, wholeheartedly.

His favorite sound.

"I want you to show me your cabin, too. You know, I'm curious now that I know I can have a place in it."

Her laughter stops abruptly as her eyes dart up at him. She finds herself sinking into a sparkling blue, dreamy gaze.

He means it.

"I will." She assures.

A sudden wind blow shakes the tent violently. Both turn to the noise, startled. Laura gets up briskly and walks to the entrance to get the flaps tied. Bill follows her suit. He is grateful that the tent seems to be pretty resistant and effectively secured but he is afraid of the changing weather. They know nothing about winters on this planet yet. He wonders how much colder and harsher it will still get.

"Let me." He offers gesturing towards the strings Laura is handling.

She nods and holds them out to Bill, leaving the task of tying the entrance closed entirely to him. She walks on to her small kitchen to make sure she has turned off the camping stove after boiling the water for the tea she has prepared earlier. She rinses a dirty spoon and fork she herself had left beside the water bowl that morning before leaving for the school. Then she leans over to blow off the two candles which are still burning languidly, providing a dim light she no longer needs. Once she is done, she gets upright and looks over to the entrance.

Bill is standing right there, watching her in her domesticity, the warmest smile she has ever seen lighting his features. Suddenly, the air turns thick with things unsaid, with postponed desires, and a shared yet unacknowledged longing.

She smiles back trying to ignore the blush she can feel spreading across her cheeks. The glint of her pupils in the darkness is too tempting an invitation for Bill not to take it. He comes over slowly. She follows him from the corner of her eye, looking over her shoulder as he gets closer, drawing a circle around her. The next thing Laura feels is his arms winding around her waist from behind and gently pulling her to him. His breath tickles her ear.

Her lids close and she leans back into his chest with a happy sigh.

Bill slides his fingers over her lower belly and brushes his cheek against her hair. She lets him, she is pliant. Her barriers are down and Bill revels in the feel. He inhales her scent. She exhales deeply.

Both of their breathings, in and out, correspond to the same feeling.

"Laura". He whispers in her ear.

"Hmm."

"I want to make love to you."

His word choice is not lost on her. Something unnamed melts at her very core. A gentle mist invades her eyes behind her closed lids.

"I think you should." Her slightly shaky voice betrays her.

"I'm not sure."

Laura places her hands over his and lifts her head from his chest. She knows what he means. It is not like she is not thinking about it herself. Ever since she became president, there is a warning light always flickering in a corner of her mind.

"I know. Me either. I've come to be sure of very few things since the attacks. But one of them is that we have to enjoy life when we can. It might be all we have left."

Bill does not move as her voice echoes in their ears. He does not know about the future. He cannot be sure about this planet, Baltar, Kobol, Earth. As he reflects on her last words, he realizes there is only one thing he can be sure of.

If the cylons come back tomorrow, the time he does not spend with her will be the only thing in his life he will regret. The only neglect he will never forgive himself for.

"Miss Roslin seems to be as convincing as President Roslin used to be."

She giggles and he can hear an extra dose of happiness, maybe even some relief, in that sound.

Lifting a hand, he pushes her locks aside to gain access to her neck. Her skin is pale and glowing like the two foreign moons hanging on the night sky outside. Bill spots two tiny freckles close to her pulse point and lays his lips right there in a lingering touch. Laura shivers and his arms tighten around her in response. He goes on a little longer, kissing and nuzzling until her breathing becomes ragged and he is almost afraid she will resist.

She does not.

Instead, she tilts her head to the side and backwards to grant him access. As he nibbles and sucks, her grip on his forearms tightens as if she needs to grasp something for balance. A succession of low gasps starts at the back of her throat providing a suggestive soundtrack which encourages him and fuels his desire.

However, a few moments after she wriggles gently and he can tell she wants to remove herself from his embrace. Bill is not sure what she is up to but he lets her. He trusts her.

He will not have anything she does not want, too.

He will have whatever she wants.

The realization is both frightening and liberating.

She turns around to face him. She must have been able to read some amount of confusion and hurt on his expression because she smiles fondly and lifts a hand to his cheek. He wonders if she knows how calming, how comforting her touch feels. How electrifying, too.

A few seconds later, she holds both of her hands out for him to take and she leads him towards the cot. She stops right there, still standing. She allows herself a moment to dive into his blue oceans. Then she drops his hands and brings hers to his chest. Her fingers tap on the thick cloth of his tunic as she undoes the buttons. One by one, she pushes them through their holes. Slowly, letting her actions ignite a surge of anticipation in their guts. When she is done with the last button, she pulls the jacket open and sneaks inside.

Just like that.

Laura presses her forehead against his chest and lets her hands slide over his shoulders under the fabric until he helps her shrugging it off and letting it fall to the ground. Then she brings her face up until her lips find Bill's neck. She moves along, up and down, raking an erratic path on his skin. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes to the sensations and clenches his jaw in an effort to restrain himself.

"I'm an old man, Laura. Have some mercy." He manages to beg in a quivering murmur.

From below his chin, Laura's voice, silkier than ever, reaches his ears.

"I'm no teenager either but I think we are doing just fine." She quips, not even caring to stop.

No. She needs to understand.

Lifting his hands, he grabs her shoulders and pushes her back gently to be able to see her face. She complies a bit reluctantly. His sudden seriousness gets her scared and she frowns as she waits for him to catch his own breath before speaking.

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met, Laura. Including all the younger ones."

She parts her lips to retort but nothing comes out. Then she cocks her head to the side as her cheeks flush. Her raised eyebrow is scolding him wordlessly, trying and failing to cover her embarrassment.

"Of course you don't have to believe me. But it is just true."

"Bill…"

He tucks an auburn strand behind her ear and stares back at her with a tender, almost amused grin plastered on his face as she processes what she has just heard. He sees the disbelief, the resistance in her green orbs. He can clearly tell the moment she accepts his compliment, the moment she finally believes his words, by the twinkle in her eyes and her widening smile.

Such a reward for telling the truth.

Laura winds her arms around his neck and pulls him to her. She holds his gaze for a second before dropping her eyelids. Then she brushes her own lips across his in a feather- like caress. One of his hands crawl up her side and the other cups her head. Realization hits her hard: she wants this, him, more than she has ever wanted anything else. His lips are responsive and they part welcoming her and she kisses him deeply, intently, until their tongues start dancing and their breathings mingle and she can no longer tell who gives and who takes.

It does not matter anymore.

It barely registers with her when his fingers start undoing the buttons of her shirt as his mouth remains engaged with hers. He proceeds skillfully, in a focused manner, and the proof that he has succeeded comes a few seconds after in the form of his gentle touch right on her skin, below her navel. Laura shudders and he finally pulls back a little, momentarily disengaging their lips so as to be able to take her in.

Her shirt falls open revealing Laura's clear, smooth skin. Bill watches her as his mouth goes dry. His thumbs explore the curve of her belly; his knuckles draw a way up her sides causing her to shudder. His rough fingertips trace the rim of her bra over the soft swelling of her breasts in a slow caress. He draws his eyes up to hers.

What he finds in them, he has never seen before.

Bill pushes the shirt off her shoulders but stops halfway, leaving Laura's arms trapped on the sleeves from the elbow down. He gently pulls at the straps of her bra without undoing its clasp, until they fall to the sides leaving her shoulders exposed. He sets his palms flat on her blades. Then he leans over and kisses her shoulders, her collarbone, drawing wet patterns up her neck, along her jaw, down again to her cleavage. Lids shut and head backwards, Laura sweetly wriggles with her arms trapped.

He finally pushes her sleeves down her forearms and past her wrists until the shirt falls to the floor and pools at her feet, soundless as an autumn leave. He pulls back as she herself undoes the clasp of her bra and stops for a beat, holding his gaze, before letting it fall to the ground too.

Laura swallows whatever has gotten stuck in her throat. And she waits.

Bill looks back at her with hooded eyes. Slowly, he lifts his hands to her breasts. He caresses them gently, getting familiar with their soft roundness, with their weight, with their creamy skin, with the look on Laura's face as he gains confidence: a totally new expression, raw and rapt, yet already unforgettable to him. He sucks in a deep breath as Laura pants softly and arches into his hands.

He cannot believe he is doing this with, to, his president. There is a dwarf, a tiny creature somewhere in his brain insistently whispering that the risk is too high, that this is too inconvenient. Memories flash across his mind of a past not so far away: she was the woman who drove him mad with her acute remarks the very first day she set her feet on his ship; the one whom he sent to the brig; the one who defied him on Kobol and whose faith made him see Earth's constellations; who politely borrowed his books and gave them back; who danced with him on Colonial Day; who advised he should kill Cain; who joked about her own impending death and being reborn as a blonde in a brand new body; who subtracted painful digits from a whiteboard which held both her mission and her living purpose; who writhed unconscious on her deathbed mere seconds after delivering the order to kill the half- cylon baby, then came to life again just to interrogate one of the adult model copies from a wheelchair. The one who rained torn papers and broken pencils on his rug before debates and tried to steal an election in an attempt to save the same humanity that had betrayed her without even stopping to consider the cost it would have on her own soul.

She was, she is this president he can still remember so vividly and there were mutually agreed barriers and boundaries defining their separate spaces, and there were professional masks in place not so long ago and he wonders when, how, they came this far.

He stops listening to the dwarf.

This is just Laura.

As if sensing his mental digression, she brings him back to reality by gently withdrawing from his hands. Her slim fingers tug at his tank tops. He lifts his arms to allow her to pull them up his torso and toss them over his head.

Then she sees the scar.

Laura fixes her gaze on the angry mark and reaches out to touch it with her forefinger. It is surprisingly soft. She glances up at him and down again. So the light she can see in his eyes now is there just because someone managed to draw this lifeline which pulls his chest together like a closed book storing wounds, stories, miracles, and emotions inside. He is alive because of it, thanks to it. Back then, his chest was torn and they were apart. Right now, his chest is whole and they are together.

Two halves forming one single being.

Laura leans over and kisses the spot where the dark line starts.

Bill cannot breathe.

She wraps her arms around his torso and hugs him impossibly close, her face buried on the crook of his neck. He releases all the air in his lungs and holds her tight in response, threading his fingers on her hair and stroking her soft, bare back. Her strength and her warmth, those two qualities he started admiring about her even before they formed their alliance, suddenly invade his body and burn through his veins at the pressure of her naked flesh against his.

Three words assault his mind. He does not dare to say them to her yet but they hit hard enough for him to be aware. He acknowledges them. He welcomes them, frightening and overwhelming as they are.

He presses a kiss into her hair to seal his newly acquired realization. To stop himself from speaking those words aloud.

Laura shivers.

"You're cold."

He motions towards the bed and she does not even try to clarify that it is not the cold that sends shivers through her body. She lets him guide her, walking on wobbly legs, enveloped in his arms. When they are close enough, Bill reaches out to pick the blanket from the mattress, the same blanket she had covered him with earlier. He wraps it around her shoulders.

It smells of him. Laura closes her eyes and breathes it in.

She hopes it will keep his scent after he is gone.

Responding to an inclination of her head, Bill winds an arm across her back to steady her as she pulls the blanket around herself with one hand and gets undressed with the other. Leaning on him, she discards her boots and socks and gets rid of her remaining clothes. She takes one step, then a second one outside the circle of her garments jumbled around her ankles. There it is. Her soles securely planted on the ground again, she gets upright, turns around and looks at him. She giggles softly. Her expression is unmistakable.

Your turn.

Bill holds his breath. Only her face, a few locks of hair, her shapely calves and her delicate feet show over and below the edges of the blanket. Her eyes glint in the darkness and he wishes he could tell her how she is glowing, he wishes he could make her see herself as he sees her. He will show her. All tucked in that dark red fabric, smiling playfully, waiting for him, she is a miracle, a promise, a precious gift.

He smirks and sits down on the cot. With a few calm, trained moves he takes off his own military boots and thick woolen socks, unfastens his belt and pushes his pants down his hips and legs, wriggling to the sides until the fabric cedes under his weight and pools around his feet.

And he looks up.

He looks up and sees Laura approaching him. She comes over to him slow but resolute, gentle but determined. Just as she is. She never leaves his eyes as she gets closer. She no longer smiles: she is serious, she is focused. She wants him to read her. She wants him to anticipate.

Bill would be almost scared if it was not her.

Or maybe that is exactly why he should be scared.

She freezes in front of him for a couple of seconds. Bill sees her lips part and her chest expand in a deep breath as if she is drawing strength for her next move. Then she pulls one hand out over the edge of the blanket, leans on his shoulder and sits on his lap straddling him. Her warmth floods him. Her fist lets go of the blanket and finds the nape of his neck.

The blanket slides down her back. It falls on Bill's knees.

Not even one second later, Bill's arms have replaced it.

There is a dark quality to their passion, a desperate eagerness as they cling to each other and their lips crash. A few seconds of tenderness as his tongue explores her mouth, as her hands run through his hair, as she smiles against his lips, are soon replaced by sheer passion as his fingers dig on the flesh of her hips, thighs, waist, and back; as his mouth pays thoughtful attention to her breasts; as she arches and presses against him and whimpers still softly yet louder than before, no longer holding back when his hand searches and finds what it seeks between their bodies; as his arm around her waist holds her in place and gently makes her take what he wants so badly to give her. Her breathing becomes erratic and she closes her eyes with force, grips his broad shoulders and leans her head forward. Her hair falls around her face like a curtain and obscures her features.

He had thought he could not want her, admire her beauty more than he did already. As he guides her through the ways of her pleasure and watches her become as malleable as wet clay under his touch, he realizes he was so wrong.

"Bill, stop. Please." She chokes out.

He complies immediately and searches her face, concerned.

"Did I hurt you?"

She chuckles.

"No. Gods… no, you didn't. I just…" She budges to the side and lands on the mattress. Then she scoops back and pats the space beside her, inviting him to join her. "Come here. Please. I… I want you."

Now Bill starts to understand but he is still hesitant.

"I want you to enjoy this as much as me, Laura."

She rolls her eyes. There is a world of tenderness in them when she looks back at him.

"Believe me, I will. Besides… I'd enjoy it no matter what. Gods, I'm enjoying it so much already." She pauses. A tiny light of doubt still flickers in his blue orbs. "I want this, Bill."

He looks back at her one more moment and then lets out a soft grunt.

She has heard him agree with her enough times in the past already. She recognizes a Yes.

He gets rid of his boxers and crawls on the mattress. She eases back and holds her arms out in an inviting gesture. Soon enough, he is hovering over her, supporting his weight on his elbows just enough not to crush her as their skins touch all along. They share happy grins and Laura laughs heartily as the springs of the cot crack dangerously loud.

He laughs along with her. He cannot help himself.

She lifts her hands to his cheeks. If he ever had any doubt about the nature of her feelings, it dissolves in this very instant as he plunges into her eyes and in all the love he finds there.

Love. That is the word. One of the three he did not dare to say aloud earlier, the one assaulting his mind now once again.

Maybe it is about that for her, too.

She guides him inside. She arches up with the feeling and relaxes again as her body adjusts and welcomes him. It has been a long time.

Maybe it never was. Not like this.

She feels him filling her. It feels amazing. It feels just right. She allows herself a moment just to be completely aware, mindful of this moment. Then she opens her eyes and looks up.

"Hi." She teases.

"Hi".

His smile is so rare. It is beautiful when unguarded, almost childish. He strokes her cheek with his knuckles.

It is overwhelming how natural this thing between them feels, even this first time, even among so many difficulties, responsibilities, and considerations. She wraps her arms around his torso and he begins rocking them, gently at first, then with increasing strength. Laura clings on to him as her lips part and her lids drop.

No. It was never like this.

"Why didn't we do this that night on the sandbags?" she manages in a whisper which comes out ragged with the rhythm he has set. She half-opens her eyes to meet his, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Bill stops for a second, stills his movements inside her. He reflects.

"I don't know about you. But I didn't want to be stoned when this happened. I wanted to be completely conscious, aware of it. Capable of giving myself to you. Of giving you this."

Laura opens her eyes wide and finds a teasing tone.

" _When_ _this happened?_ "

He gives her a wistful smile.

"Well, I hoped…" he quietly admits.

"Oh, Bill…" She blinks back a rush of tears and strokes him lovingly.

When he looks at her, she can read that truth in his eyes, too.

Then Bill starts moving again. His steady thrusts become erratic soon after. The moment Laura feels he is beyond noticing the world around them, she takes care of herself. A thick fog clouds her mind. Her free hand struggles for purchase. Her head spins and her whole body trembles as Bill makes her his, and under her control.

Then it goes beyond her control.

She screams.

A few seconds later, Bill collapses over her.

He buries his face on the crook of her neck as his whole body shakes. She holds him close, rocks him, caresses his back. As soon as he regains consciousness, he shifts to the side. She stops him before he can go too far.

"Stay."

He does. He stays right there, his weight still partly on her, his limbs tangled with hers, unable to speak, letting their breathings calm down. His head rests on her shoulder, his arm across her belly. She threads her fingers on his hair. He caresses her absentmindedly. A few seconds later she suddenly jumps, giggling.

A tickling spot.

He looks up at her and grins. There are still so many things he wants to discover about her.

He reaches back with his arm, pulls the blanket off the ground and spreads it over their bodies. Easily, naturally, he resumes his previous position. He does not want to sleep. He does not want to think, either. They will have to, but not yet.

He just wants this.

Especially when Laura looks down at him and she is beaming and her hair is a mess and he can tell she cannot repress her smile.

When she kisses his forehead.

Those three words, again.

Eventually, their breathings even out and comfort lulls them into sleep.

 

**_Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it!_ **


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